


Zero Sum

by epistolic



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 22:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4937176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistolic/pseuds/epistolic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first few months he hadn’t been able to reconcile the two images – the Jiyong clutching his shoulders and coming apart on his cock, and the Jiyong who’d sold him out two years ago, left him standing in a dead-end alleyway with three bullets in his handgun and the sirens closing in like sharks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zero Sum

Seunghyun gets back late one night and knows, before he even opens the door.

A half-empty glass on the kitchen counter. A discarded jacket. The sound of the shower running, clothes strewn in a war-path from the living room up the stairs. The mottled noise of someone singing out of tune. That particular scent of him, all gasoline and dirt, the smell of the city.

Seunghyun sets his bag down on the couch. He doesn’t really know what to do. The last time Jiyong came back they didn’t even make it upstairs, scrabbling and biting and swearing at each other, eventually dissolving into a tangled mess on the staircase – Jiyong on his knees, teeth gritted, half on and half off the landing, Seunghyun braced behind him with one hand gripping his hip and the other white-knuckled on the railing for balance.

“You should get some new carpet.”

Seunghyun closes his eyes. Doesn’t turn around. Not yet.

“Just looking at it gives me carpet-burn,” Jiyong goes on, voice winding through the kitchen. “Remember Amsterdam? I’m sure they’re still trying to get our rather questionable stains out of the – ”

“What do you want?”

Jiyong’s right behind him suddenly, a damp line of heat pressing into his spine. “What?”

“You never come back without a reason. What is it this time?”

“I’m not allowed to miss you?”

Seunghyun bites back the thick slew of anger threatening to spill out into the room. “Don’t talk as if you actually give a fuck. I know you too well. You in trouble again?”

“ _No._ ” Jiyong peels away from him. “At least, nothing I need _you_ to handle.”

His shadow flits sideways. He’s lost weight, Seunghyun thinks: the waist tapering sleekly, the narrow little bracket of his hips, legs as long and slender as a girl’s. A sudden heat kindles low in Seunghyun’s belly, that old ache. He sneaks a sideways look at him; blinks. Jiyong’s dyed his hair a bright orange.

“You’ll be pleased to know,” Jiyong says, moving back towards the stairs, hair dripping a Hansel-and-Gretel trail across the floor, “that I have absolutely zero warrants out for my arrest right now.” 

“Get out.”

“Aw, don’t be so cold! You’ll break my heart.”

Seunghyun crosses the room. There’s something terrible in him, a caustic urge for violence, something only Jiyong can bring out of him – he wants to pin Jiyong to the floor, to the wall, he wants to mark him with his mouth, sink his teeth into the soft junction between Jiyong’s throat and his collarbone; wants to fit his thumbs into the hollow of Jiyong’s hipbones and dig _in_ , hurt him with the same easy ferocity that Jiyong wields like a weapon, getting his hooks in under Seunghyun’s skin.

Jiyong huffs out a surprised breath as his back hits the wall, then laughs. “Whoa there big boy, I only – ”

“I don’t want you here,” Seunghyun grits out. “You need to _get lost_.”

Jiyong just grins at him. “If you really didn’t want me here, you would’ve changed the locks.”

“Don’t act like that would’ve stopped you. You would’ve just picked them.”

“Oh, I picked them anyway. Keeping my hand in.”

“You – ”

Jiyong kisses him then, pushing in with his entire body. Hips notching forward, hands landing on either side of Seunghyun’s jaw as if to keep him in place, a snarling mess of teeth, the bottom of Seunghyun’s stomach dropping out; Jiyong moans into him and the sound vibrates all the way down his throat, makes him light-headed.

Seunghyun pulls away with some difficulty. “You – I don’t want – ”

“Shut up shut up shut _up_ ,” Jiyong hisses against his cheek, reels him in again. “For fuck’s sake, Seunghyun, I didn’t fly eighteen hours just to have you give me this age-old bullshit – ”

Seunghyun bites him. He expects Jiyong to jerk away; he doesn’t expect Jiyong to shiver like that, going pliant as water, head tipping back to slant their mouths closer together. His palm finds the neat little sliver of skin between Jiyong’s damp shirt and his boxers, slides up and under. This is the problem with Jiyong – too many places to touch, all warm, smooth skin marbled with unexpected scars, here a knife-wound, here a bullet, here the ink of a tattoo that Seunghyun swears he can map out blind with just his fingertips. _Jesus_. Seunghyun bites him again, then again, swallows the way Jiyong’s breath hitches against him.

“I’m going to fucking murder you,” he manages.

“Later,” Jiyong gets out. His hands fumble urgently at Seunghyun’s belt. “Fuck me first, I need it, please, _Seunghyun_ – ”

It’s almost too much. Seunghyun yanks him forward, pinning his wrist to the side before shoving a leg between Jiyong’s thighs, suddenly desperate to feel how much Jiyong wants him. For a while they just rock into each other, grinding in a rough, mismatched rhythm, Jiyong panting a hot brand against his throat, so _good_ , the friction treading a stuttering line between _so fucking perfect_ and _nowhere near enough_.

Jiyong arches against him, hisses. “Wait, wait, let me. I wanna – in my mouth. Want you in my mouth.”

Seunghyun doesn’t answer, just snags a hand into the hair at Jiyong’s nape and shoves him down. 

“It – pisses you off, doesn’t it?” Jiyong says, even as he’s being manhandled to his knees. “You want it too, I know you do, I can smell it on you, even if – ”

Seunghyun tugs hard on his hair and Jiyong’s voice cuts off with a wince. 

“Shut up. Open your mouth.”

“Hey, wait – ”

Seunghyun doesn’t give him a chance to breathe. Likes the way Jiyong looks, eyes wide, scrabbling to keep up, that pert little mouth silenced at last. Likes the way Jiyong takes just that little while to adjust: choking slightly, jaw working in protest, lashes beaded with a thin fringe of wet.

Likes the way Jiyong feels, tongue pressed against him, impossibly hot, slick and perfect and Seunghyun’s grip tightens as he works himself in deeper, holding his breath, and fuck if Jiyong isn’t _made_ for this, earrings glinting in the half-light as Seunghyun cages him there and fucks his mouth. Seunghyun watches as Jiyong’s eyes drop shut for a second – god, he’s so beautiful just like that, lashes fanned dark and low – then he realises that Jiyong’s shoved his boxers down, one wrist still pinned to the wall, the other jerking himself off in time to Seunghyun’s thrusts.

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Seunghyun grits out. His hold on Jiyong’s wrist tenses and Jiyong’s hips stutter, a soft noise vibrating from his throat all the way down to Seunghyun’s toes. “Fucking _hell_ – stop.”

Jiyong pulls back slowly, tongue fluttering, and stars burst across Seunghyun’s vision.

He looks so wrecked: mouth plump and bitten, eyes a dark, mineral glitter, the sex-flush high in his cheeks. The long curve of his neck with its arterial shudder beneath the skin. His hair sweat-dark, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath, twin nipples peaked beneath his shirt.

 _Gorgeous_ , Seunghyun thinks, sparks curling into the base of his spine. _So fucking gorgeous._

“Please.” Jiyong leans in, voice a rasping whisper, nuzzling briefly against Seunghyun’s thigh. 

“Please what?”

“Make me feel good. Please, I wanna come, Seunghyun, please – ”

Seunghyun can’t help it. He wants to be furious but he can’t, not when Jiyong looks like _that_ , begging so prettily on his knees; this is always what happens. Every time. Jiyong comes swanning back whenever he likes and Seunghyun is just _caught_ , breath trapped in his lungs, a knot in his throat, no lessons learned. Wanting so badly to break him but never quite managing it. Never quite given the chance.

“You should stop,” he finds himself saying, even as he folds to his knees. Jiyong moans softly, watching him, tongue flicking out absently to wet his lips. “You shouldn’t – Jiyong, it’s not – ”

“Shh. Give me your hand.”

Seunghyun blinks, vision suddenly hazy as Jiyong sucks three of his fingers into his mouth. Getting him ready, all filthy and wet, and _Christ_ – 

“Wait,” he chokes out. “Jiyong. That’s gonna hurt.”

“’S fine. You wanna hurt me anyway, right?” 

Seunghyun opens his mouth but then Jiyong turns, faces the wall on his knees: slinging the shirt up over his head before throwing it aside, one elbow braced, vertebrae a beautiful linear constellation up the dip of his back. Shoulder-blades winging out on either side. Ink tickling the side of his ribs in a molten scrawl.

Free hand reaching back to spread himself open and Seunghyun’s mouth goes dry, the words sticking high in his throat. 

“ _Do it._ ” Jiyong cranes his head back, lips parted on a gasp as Seunghyun drags a slick finger over his opening. “Oh _fuck_. Oh fuck. Oh _please_ , Seunghyun, you bastard, don’t just – ” He chokes as Seunghyun presses the finger up into him, voice shredded low and raw. “ _God_ you’re so – holy fuck just put it in me, please, that’s enough, just – oh God – ”

“You’re so damn _loud_ ,” Seunghyun manages; lines himself up shakily, fucks into him.

Jiyong’s thighs tremble. He gets out a strangled noise, his entire body going taut – so tight around Seunghyun’s cock that Seunghyun sees stars for a breathless moment, the entire room reeling. He’d forgotten how good this felt. The last time had been vicious, no time really to notice anything: the memory of it makes his rhythm falter, tipping forward and draping his weight over Jiyong’s body; he likes the way Jiyong arches up to meet him at that, Jiyong’s breath shuddering when his mouth meets skin a split second after he snaps his hips.

“More,” Jiyong starts to say – then his mouth falls open as Seunghyun starts fucking him in earnest, ramming him against the wall with every stroke. “ _Oh._ ”

Seunghyun catches his wrist as it peels away from the wall. “No. Don’t touch yourself.”

“I – what are you – _fuck_ , are you serious?”

Seunghyun doesn’t answer, twists his hips _just so_ , not enough breath to laugh when Jiyong’s head drops forward with a stuttered groan. There’s a pressure building at the base of his spine – _not yet_ , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut. Sweat rolls down his neck. _Not yet._

But it can’t be helped. He’s too close, clawing himself back from the brink just long enough to wrench Jiyong’s mouth to his, wanting to hold it, hold it there, press pause on the feel of Jiyong panting his name, mouth slack and those beautiful eyes screwed shut against the pleasure of it. He opens his mouth to say _You can touch yourself now_ but instead what comes out is _Don’t go_ , and then he’s coming, a white shock blistering through his entire body, stitching his skin several sizes too tight as his vision blanks out.

“ _Seunghyun_ ,” Jiyong says one last time, high and urgent. “Fuck fuck _fuck_ I’m gonna – ”

His body coils tight and then he jerks, hips bucking, a ragged groan ripping out of him as he comes; Seunghyun swallows the sound of it, tucks it down into a space behind his ribs for safekeeping. 

_Mine._

\--

They stay there for several minutes, propped up by the wall. Seunghyun rests his forehead against the space between Jiyong’s shoulder-blades, breathing in the heady warmth of him, in and out.

Finally, Jiyong shifts beneath him. “Mmm.”

“Eighteen hours?”

“Ugh,” Jiyong says. He shuffles, trying to disentangle himself. “I can’t believe you. We just fucked on your living room floor, and now it’s straight to business.”

Seunghyun doesn’t move. He keeps his eyes closed, ignoring the dull ache in his knees. For the first few months he hadn’t been able to reconcile the two images – the Jiyong clutching his shoulders and coming apart on his cock, and the Jiyong who’d sold him out two years ago, left him standing in a dead-end alleyway with three bullets in his handgun and the sirens closing in like sharks.

“Why did you do it?”

Jiyong twists around to look at him, startled. “What?”

“I wanted you.” Seunghyun swallows. “The rest didn’t matter, but you – you were the one thing.”

Jiyong goes still beneath him. No answer. Not that he’d really expected any: Jiyong never explains himself, goes blazing through life like a firestorm, all hard edges and sharp little teeth and smoke.

“Come on,” Jiyong murmurs at last. “Get off. My knees are killing me.”

They pull apart, Seunghyun’s eyes instantly drawn to the pale trickle down the inside of Jiyong’s thigh as he stands. Shame thuds into him, a slow burn inside his chest, makes him feel sick. _Stupid. Idiot._ Falling for the same trick over and over, playing the same old hand.

He clears his throat. “You gonna be here in the morning?”

“Maybe,” Jiyong says, already moving. Already onto the next big thing. “Maybe not.”

\--

_He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There’s a niche in his chest_  
 _where a heart would fit perfectly_  
 _and he thinks if he could just manoeuvre one into place –_  
 _well then, game over._

**Author's Note:**

> Last quote is from _Road Music_ , by Richard Siken.
> 
> For updates on any future fics, feel free to add me on [Tumblr](http://epistolica.tumblr.com), [LiveJournal](http://epistolic.livejournal.com), or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/#!/epistolic)! ♥


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